Monday, April 28, 2014
Roller coaster
Now before this starts to sound like I trotted through these mountains like a caravan-queen, I sure did snail my way up to a more-than-fair(?) share of elevation. But I love it, all of it! The valleys and gaps, little streams and sparkling rivers, the morning mist and haze. One night I did sleep in my tent and was woken up by the rising sun and the sound of woodpeckers at work. Moisture froze to the outside sailing of my tent. But these mountains can't touch me! I'm warmly shrimped-up in my bleu duck-down sleeping back, I don't feel a thing. Although that's not entirely true. These mountains do touch me, in more ways than I'd expected them to. Moving in these mountains means leaving the security and luxury of the WarmShowers behind (there simply are none) and parting from Louis means no more wild-camping (I'd like at least some living soul on this planet to know where I am at night). So I kinda freestyle my way across the rural but very romantic birth of the bluegrass-region, relying on the kindness of friendly strangers. And friendly they are. I am blown away, again. These past days have not only been a roller coaster of mountains and hills, but of emotions too. It's impossible not to be touched by all the kindness around me, the gestures of people, strangers, who take me in and treat me like their own family. I get to be somebody's daughter, granddaughter, sister or close college-friend. "I guess we just don't meet strangers", one of them explains it to me, and I can only agree. So far I have more than one person stand-by, whom I just have to call and he/she will be there for me, wherever I am, whatever time. On top of all this I really miss my cycle-buddy, the laughing and travelling in company. Rolling emotions guaranteed.
Some of these crossroads forged are very intense. I just pop-up into their lives, uniformed, and have little more to offer than my endless gratefulness and a sprout of adventure which I plant in each of them. I feel like I'm doing this the Hansel and Gretel-way, trailing a piece of me behind at every encounter and likewise take some of them with me. And it fills my heart. I'm a spiderous version of Hansel and Gretel, spinning a web of unconditionally love across the country.
By this way of travelling, by being so close and accessible to people and by letting quality and experience prevail over speed and convenience, I feel myself growing, becoming a smarter, fuller and completer human being. I let this road take me, teach me, to a higher level of understanding.
Some of these crossroads forged are very intense. I just pop-up into their lives, uniformed, and have little more to offer than my endless gratefulness and a sprout of adventure which I plant in each of them. I feel like I'm doing this the Hansel and Gretel-way, trailing a piece of me behind at every encounter and likewise take some of them with me. And it fills my heart. I'm a spiderous version of Hansel and Gretel, spinning a web of unconditionally love across the country.
By this way of travelling, by being so close and accessible to people and by letting quality and experience prevail over speed and convenience, I feel myself growing, becoming a smarter, fuller and completer human being. I let this road take me, teach me, to a higher level of understanding.
More Mountain Madness
I'm still moving in the mountains, on the back roads, spotting deer, a kind of mountain-marmot, saving a turtle once in a while and fixing myself up with nocturnal camp spots (cemetery-view, yes please!). Very peaceful. Till I get to college-town Radford, VA and stay with college-kid Nick (great guy!) in his very all-guys-college-place. I randomly met his dad (big Nick) in Richmond. Big Nick started conversation and insisted on staying with his son since he is based on my route. All is well, I meet Nick and his friends on a very beautiful Saturday afternoon, 2pm, digesting last night's hangover with a fresh load of beer. It has a name: Quadfest, and it goes on for 3 days. Think beer, pizza, badminton, basement parties, people, a lot of people, and more beer. I guess I'll take Eastern off than. Great guys, great weekend.
And then, sort of refreshed, I move again. These following days involve some good-old-cheating and a lot of unconditional kindness. It all started on a very windy and rainy day, wisely ensuing local advice and skipping the next monstrous mountain ridge by taking a more accessible two digit speedway. Again faith delivered me in the very kind hands of Roy, a super sweet elder man, who insisted on helping me out with a place to sleep. In between two breakfasts (one in- and one outdoors) I all of a sudden see my bike getting strapped to the back of his car! Euhh ...? "I'm gonna take you over this next hill, it's just very steep". I protested (really I did) at first, but let it all go and received the kindness with a smile.
The next night I, again, land in a next-to-nothing town in the lawn of another very sweet elderly-couple whose granddaughter, husband and hyper dog live across the street. Same story: dinner, breakfast, shower, lost a game of checkers and laundry if I wanted too AND the next morning another drive up to another BIG steep mountain. Ah well, since I abandoned my all-inch-policy long ago, back in Florida, I hardly feel bad about the cheating and just go with the very-kind-offer-flow.
These days I barely get the chance to pitch my tent or eat my own food, which I just keep hauling up the mountains. And when I do (think I) see the chance to eat some of my own food, I just end up eating double breakfast or dinner. All these luxury problems I have ...
Tell me this is not the greatest way of travelling and to actually see a country? Staying with the locals, and by that I mean all of them, all the social class-, age-, and family-composition-layers. I go from elderly couples, to a young Steiner-family of six, to college-kids to middle-age singles. And they all have their little backpack full of talents and tales. And I just sponge it all up, lavishly.
And then, sort of refreshed, I move again. These following days involve some good-old-cheating and a lot of unconditional kindness. It all started on a very windy and rainy day, wisely ensuing local advice and skipping the next monstrous mountain ridge by taking a more accessible two digit speedway. Again faith delivered me in the very kind hands of Roy, a super sweet elder man, who insisted on helping me out with a place to sleep. In between two breakfasts (one in- and one outdoors) I all of a sudden see my bike getting strapped to the back of his car! Euhh ...? "I'm gonna take you over this next hill, it's just very steep". I protested (really I did) at first, but let it all go and received the kindness with a smile.
The next night I, again, land in a next-to-nothing town in the lawn of another very sweet elderly-couple whose granddaughter, husband and hyper dog live across the street. Same story: dinner, breakfast, shower, lost a game of checkers and laundry if I wanted too AND the next morning another drive up to another BIG steep mountain. Ah well, since I abandoned my all-inch-policy long ago, back in Florida, I hardly feel bad about the cheating and just go with the very-kind-offer-flow.
These days I barely get the chance to pitch my tent or eat my own food, which I just keep hauling up the mountains. And when I do (think I) see the chance to eat some of my own food, I just end up eating double breakfast or dinner. All these luxury problems I have ...
Tell me this is not the greatest way of travelling and to actually see a country? Staying with the locals, and by that I mean all of them, all the social class-, age-, and family-composition-layers. I go from elderly couples, to a young Steiner-family of six, to college-kids to middle-age singles. And they all have their little backpack full of talents and tales. And I just sponge it all up, lavishly.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Warrior
"The father's job is to teach his children how to be warriors, to give them the confidence to get on the horse and ride into battle when it's necessary to do so. If you don't get that from your father, you have to teach yourself." - S. Strayed in 'Wild'
Sunday, April 20, 2014
On the TransAmTrail (Astoria - Oregon, to Yorktown - Virginia)
Part II.
This is where I'm heading for the heart; the 'fly over' states of America. Although I was a bit sad to leave my travel buddies, I know I want to do this, for the most part, by myself. Nobody to lean on or hide behind when it gets tough. And sure boy it got tough. Why is it always so easy for me to give myself a hard time? It happened, as soon as I was on my own, I hit that wall again. 93 miles (150km) I did that day and no more playful practice, o no, Virginia is the real deal baby. The world is not flat, and I know now.
But it's gorgeous! Here I am, lazily doing some washboards on the rolling hills of Virginia, and all of a sudden I'm blown away by the beauty of the first glimpse on the Appalachian Mountains. Bucolic Virginia is scattered with hills, mountains and meadows populated by cows, farms, barns, horses, donkeys and the occasional lama. You feel it? Right, so how hard can it be to give yourself a hard time, to take it easy? Indeed, tremendously hard for me.
Day 2 on the TransAmTrail, I have a rendez-vous with the Blue Ridge Parkway, a breathtaking ridge-stretch, but a monster to cyclists. I vividly relived crossing the Alps on my '09 Antwerp-Venice trip, and this one, I decided to do without water ...
Due to a minor-miscalculation I missed the last village in which I could refill so no hydration for me on this one, not even in the visitor center, which does not open for season till May. OK so here we go, I climb and climb, that lowest gear putting some challenge on me, on what seems to be the Appalachian Trail for bikers. Cut the story short, the Appalachians are killing me softly. On top of that, I have some monthly girl-issues going on. I am not feeling happy, at all, the breathtaking overlooks do not get the attention of me they deserve. In maddening thirst I can barely withhold myself from catering on icicles and preventing any water-born illness to break into my body. And there's just no end to it, this ridge will go up and up, forever. Meanwhile passing cars wave at me in admiration and encouragement, while all I want to do is throw a rock in their windscreen.
At last, magically, I am relieved from the ridge and come, at the pied du mont, to the conclusion it's only 18.5 more miles to my WarmShower. 18.5 miles!! This day was a neat lesson in theory-of-relativity and anger-management. Luckily my lust for life was resparked by the incredible sweet WarmShower hosts I stayed the night with. Like it all never happened.
This is where I'm heading for the heart; the 'fly over' states of America. Although I was a bit sad to leave my travel buddies, I know I want to do this, for the most part, by myself. Nobody to lean on or hide behind when it gets tough. And sure boy it got tough. Why is it always so easy for me to give myself a hard time? It happened, as soon as I was on my own, I hit that wall again. 93 miles (150km) I did that day and no more playful practice, o no, Virginia is the real deal baby. The world is not flat, and I know now.
But it's gorgeous! Here I am, lazily doing some washboards on the rolling hills of Virginia, and all of a sudden I'm blown away by the beauty of the first glimpse on the Appalachian Mountains. Bucolic Virginia is scattered with hills, mountains and meadows populated by cows, farms, barns, horses, donkeys and the occasional lama. You feel it? Right, so how hard can it be to give yourself a hard time, to take it easy? Indeed, tremendously hard for me.
Day 2 on the TransAmTrail, I have a rendez-vous with the Blue Ridge Parkway, a breathtaking ridge-stretch, but a monster to cyclists. I vividly relived crossing the Alps on my '09 Antwerp-Venice trip, and this one, I decided to do without water ...
Due to a minor-miscalculation I missed the last village in which I could refill so no hydration for me on this one, not even in the visitor center, which does not open for season till May. OK so here we go, I climb and climb, that lowest gear putting some challenge on me, on what seems to be the Appalachian Trail for bikers. Cut the story short, the Appalachians are killing me softly. On top of that, I have some monthly girl-issues going on. I am not feeling happy, at all, the breathtaking overlooks do not get the attention of me they deserve. In maddening thirst I can barely withhold myself from catering on icicles and preventing any water-born illness to break into my body. And there's just no end to it, this ridge will go up and up, forever. Meanwhile passing cars wave at me in admiration and encouragement, while all I want to do is throw a rock in their windscreen.
At last, magically, I am relieved from the ridge and come, at the pied du mont, to the conclusion it's only 18.5 more miles to my WarmShower. 18.5 miles!! This day was a neat lesson in theory-of-relativity and anger-management. Luckily my lust for life was resparked by the incredible sweet WarmShower hosts I stayed the night with. Like it all never happened.
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